


Good to Meet you Again

by RickStoryTeller



Category: Fear the Walking Dead (TV), The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clarke Griffin meeting Alicia Clark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:53:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RickStoryTeller/pseuds/RickStoryTeller
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A young woman, Clarke Griffin, wakes up in modern day LA after the start of the Walker Apocalypse not knowing how or why she is there, except for having a deep underlying sense of loss.  In her quest to find help, and other human beings, she eventually meets someone who seems familiar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good to Meet you Again

**Author's Note:**

  * For [my good friend Linnéa](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=my+good+friend+Linn%C3%A9a).



> Please note. This fictional piece contains minor descriptions of mutilated bodies, death, gun and weapon use in the context of zombies/walkers.
> 
> It's specifically written for a friend on Twitter and all those who are feeling at a loss since a certain character on The 100 left.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

She opened her eyes and found she was staring at a fuzzy ceiling.

She closed her eyes again, tightly, then blinked them open again to clear her vision. She was in an apartment. But who’s?

Clarke sat up too quickly and clutched the back of her head, “Oww” she said quietly. There were keys on the floor by her and she was facing the door. It appeared to have been hastily chained shut. Around her lay scattered books and an overturned coffee table. It looked as if she had tripped entering the apartment.

“Good job.” She muttered before stopping, a frown forming. 

“Good job ….” She thought again. She started to panic. She couldn’t remember her name. She got to her feet and started to pat herself down, looking for … yes. She found a card wallet in her jeans pocket. She opened it and saw a Driver’s licence and a UCLA student card. She looked around and saw a mirror. Approaching it, she checked the photos on the cards, against the girl staring back at her. They matched.

The name on the cards said ‘Clarke Griffin’. She was a resident of Los Angles, California, USA. She looked at where she had come to and started to join the dots. She had rushed into the apartment, locking it but then must have stumbled backwards over the table. She looked at the scattered books. Medical biology and psychology. 

‘Is this my apartment?’ she thought. It certainly felt familiar here, and to check, she picked up the keys. There was a novelty key fob saying ‘Clarke’. She unlocked the door cautiously, opened it and peered out. It was quiet. She tried the keys in the look. A perfect fit. Relieved, she thought to herself, ‘I fell over the table and banged my head. Temporary memory loss. It’ll come back but I should maybe get myself to a hospital. Probably got a concussion.’

She went into the bedroom and found a black leather jacket to put on. She then made sure she had the keys and left the apartment. At the end of the hall, she pressed the lift call button and waited as the lift made its way to her floor. The doors opened and she screamed.

“Oh my god. Oh my god.” Clarke cried out, staggering backwards. The lift contained what was left of a body. The lift walls were covered in congealed blood and on the floor was a head, a ripped open torso and viscera. No legs. She scrambled back from the sight and the smell, feeling the bile rise in her throat, and ran back to the apartment. Clarke slammed the door shut, frantically locked it and ran to the kitchen sink where she was ill. Her hands shaking, she turned on the tap but nothing came out. She then went to the fridge. There was a pack of water bottles. She grabbed one and swigged it. 

“The police” she said to herself, “I have to call the police.” Clarke picked up the telephone but that was dead too.

“What the hell is going on?” she said out loud. Clarke was scared. She couldn’t remember much at all. She looked out the window of her apartment and felt the colour drain from her face. She was looking at a nightmare. The neighbourhood was completely destroyed. There were crashed and overturned cars and some houses had been on fire, now long extinguished. And there were bodies. Lots of bodies. Many in the same condition as the one in the lift. There was a police car with its doors open and a police officer half out of the car facing down on to the sidewalk.

She turned back in shock and sank down, sitting facing the door.

***

Clarke had no idea how long she had been sitting against the wall, hugging her knees, facing the locked door. She had been in shock. While she sat there trying to make sense of what was happening, images were coming back to her. She hadn’t rushed into her apartment. Something had chased her here, up the stairwell. She could remember chaining the door because something was banging on it, trying to smash its way in. She had then heard the lift and the banging stopped, being replaced by a scream. Whatever had been chasing her, it had been responsible for what happened in that lift.

She was sure the neighbourhood hadn’t been in that condition when she had run into the apartment and, judging by the smell in that lift and the condition of whoever that had once been, she had been unconscious for a couple of days at least, if not more. She started to worry about her health again. A loss of consciousness that long wasn’t good.

While the memories had been coming back, she had also been aware of something else underlying them. A sense of great loss that she couldn’t reconcile with the events now, or even with the memories coming back to her. It was more of a feeling, something that went deeper, almost disconnected with this life. She got the sense that she had lost something that meant a great deal to her, that she had been deeply unhappy, that she had been in pain and she had just wanted it all to end. That she had wanted to leave the pain behind and just be somewhere else. No matter how she tried, however, any explanation for that was blocked, completely. The horrific memories of what had happened here, rapidly taking over.

She switched on the TV. It had power but displayed nothing except some coloured bars and a message reading ‘Emergency Broadcast System – Please Standby’. Every channel was the same. Something huge had happened. Clarke switched off the TV and looked out the window again. It was quiet. There was nobody out there. She had heard nothing from the other apartments. It was getting dark and she came away from the window. She needed to head for a hospital but there was no way she was going at night, not with whatever was happening out there. Oddly enough, her head no longer hurt and she hadn’t noticed any of the symptoms of a concussion. With that diagnosis, and the medical/biology texts, she reckoned she was studying medicine. She decided she would be safer off going in the morning when it was lighter. With that, she dragged a cabinet in front of the door and went to the bedroom, blocking that door with a dresser.

***

Morning came only too soon and woke Clarke from a fitful sleep. She had been plagued by confusing dreams. Someone she knew had been in them but, now she was awake, she could remember nothing about the person, except that she had known them and that she hadn’t wanted to wake up. The more she thought, the less she could remember. She ate some fruit and dry cereal, the milk had started to turn and she wasn’t that desperate, yet. She got some food, water and supplies together and then checked out the window again. It was still quiet, nothing had changed. With that, she cautiously left the apartment. Not wanting to go anywhere near the lift, Clarke tentatively opened the door to the stairwell, the very stairwell she could remember being chased up. She anxiously made her way down the stairs, trying to look ahead as much as possible, whilst checking for anyway way to exit in a hurry. Nearing the ground floor, she strained her ears. Nothing. She took a deep breath and stepped onto the ground floor and quietly opened to door to the street.

The air was warm. Typical LA weather. The quietness was deafening, however. The lack of traffic, aircraft, sirens, talk, music, the lack of any sign of everyday people going about their everyday business, was oppressive. It was a very odd thing to experience and the silence bore down on her heavily. She saw the police car she had seen from her window. She stared at the body hanging out of the driver’s door. That’s when she heard it.

Clarke froze. Her eyes moving to one side. Something was behind her. Something she knew she had heard before. A shuffling sound, followed by a low, rasping moan. Her heartbeat sped up and she swallowed. She turned slowly and her eyes opened wide in fear. A figure was bearing down on her fast. It was a man. Or rather it had been. A large amount of skin had been torn from his face, which had started to decompose and was hanging from the exposed skull. There was only one eye, looking directly at her and only one arm. The missing arm being on the same side as the facial injuries. Its good arm was outstretched towards her and she knew this figure wasn’t asking for help. She started to run for the police car as the figure closed on her. For some reason, this incident triggered a sequence of events she was later at a loss to explain. The thoughts came to her in a familiar, but completely alien way. Run. Survive. Police. Gun.

She ran to the police car and checked the belt on the body. The officer had a gun. She pulled it from the holster, flicked off the safety catch, aimed at the figure closing on her and squeezed the trigger. A loud bang and the figure jerked. A hole appearing in the chest where the heart should be. The figure composed its balance and advanced again. Clarke frowned, then without hesitation, aimed higher, squeezed the trigger again and hit the figure in the head. With a spray of blood, the back of the skulk exploded out and it went down hard. Clarke stood there frowning at the body.

“When the hell did I learn to use a gun?” she said aloud.

***

Clarke knew she had never used a gun in her life. She would have remembered. The way she had flicked the safety catch off. The accuracy she had shown. The way she realised if the figure wasn’t stopped from a chest shot that a head shot would do it. The way she hadn’t flinched from the sound of the gun discharging. Those were learned skills, not natural, instinctive ones. And yet, she had never even held a gun in her life. She could remember being part of a UCLA gun control lobby group. This was crazy.

She also realised nobody had been alerted by the shot. She slowly went to the body and looked at it. As far as she could tell she had hit, whatever the hell this was, in the heart. There should have been more blood. It should have been dead from that shot. Unless. She looked at the other injuries. The decomposition around the other wounds showed them to be old. This man would have bled out from having his arm torn off. Does this mean he was already dead when he attacked her? She felt a chill run through her. That was impossible.

She needed to find that hospital. Then she thought, if a man can die in the street bleeding out from those injuries, and if a police officer can lay face down on the sidewalk dead, perhaps there was no hospital. She decided to see for herself anyway. People would, surely, congregate in places like that if disaster struck. If anything, she might find someone who could tell her what was going on. She put the safety catch back on and stowed the gun in her jacket pocket. She then searched the police car, found another full clip and some unopened potato chips that she put in her back pack. She then started to walk in the direction of where she thought the hospital was.

***

She could see the hospital ahead. It looked clear. She had seen a few more figures. Ok, zombies, on the way but realised she could avoid them rather than confront them. She was having a difficult time calling them what they were, but she pushed herself to. They weren’t alive. They were dead and reanimated. It was crazy and part if her had been waiting for her to wake up realising she was late for class or something mundane. She watched the hospital for a while, noting areas of cover and where the zombies currently were. She also noted where the prone bodies lay, not sure if any of those were reanimated and what might trigger a response from them.

After about half an hour she was sure she had worked out a route to get into the building, and set off. She stepped through the front gate of the hospital before she realised her mistake. From her vantage point she hadn’t seen what was on the other side of the wall. The ground was lower, the entrance from the gate, leading down a ramp to the ambulance entrance. She had walked quickly, halfway down the ramp before she heard the moans. She looked over her left shoulder and saw around 30 or so zombies that had been on the other side of the wall, on either side of the ramp. She looked back at the entrance and saw several zombies shuffling in quickly, cutting her off.

Clarke spun back, beginning to panic. In front of her were three zombies, but she could get through. She ran towards the them, stopping to shoot. Five shots from the gun brought the three down. That made seven shots out of the clip of fifteen. Eight shots left, then she would have to reload. She ran to the hospital building but the main door was locked and barricaded. She looked around, more zombies were closing on her. Three more shots, two more down. Then she saw it.

On the opposite side of the wall was a fire escape ladder. Clarke ran for it, not caring what was at the top. She had to get away. She put the gun in her jacket pocket and zipped it up then jumped up to the ladder. Pulling herself up she used all her strength to get her feet on the rungs. She climbed as quickly as she could without looking down. She reached the top, pulled herself over the wall and collapsed on her back breathing heavily. 

Clarke stayed there for a while, getting her breath back and then stood up, she took a bottle of water and swigged it. Putting it back she looked around the roof. It was obvious the hospital was deserted, unless other people were holed up throughout. She decided she should look for other survivors. Underlying her fear, and the adrenaline, there was that same feeling of loss, of sadness, that she had felt when she was alone in her apartment yesterday. She was constantly aware of it, almost as if it were telling her to give up, to just surrender to the zombies and accept peaceful oblivion. She took a step back, and that’s when she fell through the skylight.

***

Clarke screamed as she fell through the open skylight, onto something soft. Her eyes took a moment to adjust and then she realised, with horror, what she had landed on. It was a pile of bodies. Wrapped up in hospital sheeting.

“Oh god. Oh god, oh god.” Clarke said, scrambling off the pile. The smell was awful and she gagged. These bodies had been here for a while and the sheets were wet from god knows whatever seeping through them as the bodies decomposed. She checked the door, pulling her shirt up over her nose and mouth. It was locked. She looked around trying to find another way out, when she heard quite clearly, that familiar rasping moan. She turned and saw a zombie bearing down on her, she pulled out the gun and fired. It went down, just as another one grabbed her from the side. Clarke screamed. They fell over as another two zombies shuffled out from behind the bodies. Clarke was now panicking trying to push her attacker up, it’s blank eyes fixated on her, it’s teeth gnashing, trying to get to her.

As she struggled, Clarke could hear running and voices on the other side of the door.

“I heard a scream and a shot Travis.” Said a young woman’s voice.

“There can’t be anyone in there. We locked it.” Replied what sounded like an older man’s voice.

“HELP ME!” Clarke screamed at the top of her lungs, “Please!” she was kicking at the other two zombies and managed to kick one’s legs so it went down hard.

“I told you I heard shooting outside!” the woman’s voice said more urgently, “Get it open.”

“Hold on!” the man’s voice yelled through the door, as Clarke heard a key turning in the lock.

The door burst open and two men rushed in, followed by someone else she couldn’t see. The two men opened fire at the two zombies that hadn’t reached Clarke yet, with a shotgun and a pistol.

Clarke heard the woman’s voice, “Push it up!”

Clarke used all her strength and pushed the zombie up, and – Crack! A baseball bat hit the zombie square in the face smashing its head off its shoulders. Without a head, the body went limp and rolled off Clarke.

Clarke scrambled to her feet, breathing heavily and then passed out.

***

For the second time Clarke woke from unconsciousness. She had been dreaming of someone and again, she couldn’t remember a thing about that person. Except that she didn’t want to leave them. She opened her eyes a fluorescent light above her. Just then an out of focus face popped into view.

“Hey.” The face said.

“Woah.” Clarke cried with a start, sitting up abruptly.

“Oh god. Sorry.” The face said with concern, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

“That’s ok. Where am I am? What happened?”

“You're out of that room. Sorry it took us a while. We locked it in case any of them turned. Looks like you fell through the skylight. But hey, soft landing huh? Guess they’re good for something.” The young woman said, handing Clarke a bottle of water. Clarke took a sip.

“Thanks.” Clarke said, “And thanks for …” She had focused her eyes and looked up at the young woman. 

“Lexa?” Clarke asked?

“Umm. No, I’m Alicia.” The woman frowned, “Did you hit your head?”

“Yes. No. I mean, I did. But not just now.” Clarke stammered. 

“Wow. You’re really out of it.” Said Alicia, eyes wide. “Who’s Lexa?” she asked.

Clarke thought hard then replied, “I … I don’t know. I’m sorry. I don’t know why I called you that. I don’t remember much before yesterday. I had an accident and was unconscious.”

Alicia smiled, “I guess that’s a theme with you, huh?”

Clarke smiled weakly. She felt as if she knew this girl but from where, she had no idea. Just then, the older man came in. He had a tough but kind look about him.

“Hi." he said, "Thought I heard you. How are you?”

“I’m fine. Thank you for getting me out of there.”

“No problem. I’m Travis.” He said, “We found your gun. You can have it back. I just need to know your name and how you came to be in that room first. I have a family to protect and I can’t take chances.”

Clarke nodded, “That’s all fine. I’m just glad I’m talking with real live people again. My name is Clarke Griffin.”

She started to talk with Travis, but not before she noticed a thoughtful frown on Alicia’s face when Clarke had told them her name. The other thing Clarke noticed was just how pretty Alicia was.

***

Clarke felt better knowing the gun was back in her jacket pocket. She didn’t need to use it, as somehow she felt safer with these people. That underlying feeling had started to confuse her. It didn’t feel sad anymore. It didn't feel hopeless. It felt, the only way she could have described it was, hopeful? Excited even?

Clarke had explained, to the others, what happened to her. She had suffered no more symptoms of concussion and had put the fainting down to the stress of the attack in that room, and that awful stench. She had discovered that Travis was Alicia’s mother’s boyfriend and the older of the two men was called Daniel. Daniel’s daughter, Ofelia was on a boat with Alicia’s mother, brother, Travis’s son and the boat owner, a guy Alicia didn’t quite seem to trust, called Victor Strand. They had been at the hospital on a medical supply run and had spent the night in the building. They were in the safest area but had found the body storage room and locked it quickly, as a precaution. They were going back to the boat tomorrow. A boat, out at sea. That had to be safer than being on land.

She was sitting by a window, looking out, watching the zombies walking around aimlessly. They had no pain, no sickness, no memories, no feelings or freewill, and no real death. Just walking about, autonomously doing whatever the hell it was they did, as if programmed and controlled by something bigger, targeting the living and turning them into the same mindless rotting drones, as themselves. It looked like they were building their ranks, their population. Destroying the living to live as the dead. This whole scenario, this threat, and the process of ‘turning the living into the undead’ seemed strangely familiar somehow. Those underlying feelings, now hopeful, were telling her not to surrender to those creatures after all, but to fight them. To avoid becoming a drone. To keep living, keep feeling, keep choosing her own destiny. To keep surviving at all costs.

Alicia arrived, sat next to Clarke and looked at her.

“How do you feel?”

“Safe.” Clarke replied.

“You want to feel safer?” Alicia asked, “Come with us.”

“Is that a firm offer?” Clarke asked.

“Yep. Daniel was unsure but he’s unsure about everything. I still don’t know what happened with him but he’s suspicious of everyone. Travis says you’re welcome if you want to.”

“Thanks. I’d like that.” Clarke replied. Keeping in a group made sense but, more than that she felt very comfortable with Alicia. Clarke sensed that unidentified underlying feeling wasn’t just hopeful anymore, but happy. Very, very happy.

Both were looking out of the window when Clarke noticed a scar on the back of Alicia’s neck. It was vertical and a good two inches in length, at least. Without thinking Clarke reached out and gently touched it.

“What happened?” Clarke asked, before coming to her senses and withdrawing her hand, “I’m sorry.” she said, “You must think that was odd.”

Alicia smiled thoughtfully then replied, “No. It’s fine. To be honest that was oddly … not odd.” She went on to explain, “It’s a scar from when I was younger. Something about the vertebrae in my neck. They had to operate a couple of times.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Clarke said, “Was it sorted out ok?”

“Yep. All sorted.” Alicia smiled then frowned, “You know, I can’t help thinking I know you from somewhere. Like, really well.”

“I’m getting that too.” Clarke replied, “I go to UCLA, apparently. Have we seen each other there?”

“No. I was all set for Berkley later this year. Perhaps we met in a past life?” Alicia asked.

“Past life?” Clarke said, one eyebrow raised, “You believe in that stuff?”

“Hey. The world’s been overrun with zombies. Past life belief is no longer in the realm of the impossible.” Alicia said, before giving Clarke a goofy smile. That made Clarke laugh.

“I have to admit,” Clarke said looking at her feet, “since I woke up yesterday there’s been a feeling I couldn’t identify. Like I’d lost someone close. A friend or something. A real feeling of sadness. But not here, not now. Long, long ago.”

Alicia looked at Clarke, “It’s a little different with me.” She replied, “I feel like there’s a number of people who all talk to me at once. If I’m at a loss as to what to do in a situation, the voices pop up.”

“They tell you what to do?” Clarke asked.

“Eventually.” Alicia said, “Spend most of their time arguing, though.” She added with a chuckle. 

Clarke smiled, “When did you last hear them?” she asked.

“When I heard you scream in that room.”, Alicia said. Clarke looked up and Alicia, looking Clarke in the eye, continued, “They told me I had to save you. I didn’t know who you were but they didn’t even discuss it. The decision to open that door and get you out was unanimous. That’s never, ever happened before.”

There was a brief moment of silence, both women looking at each other, before Alicia added, “You must be special.” They both smiled.

“How’s your inner feeling?” Alicia asked.

“Funnily enough,” Clarke replied, taking a breath, “it stopped feeling sad when I met you.”

“What feeling is it now?” 

“Happy. Content and … protected.” Clarke replied, frowning at that last word.

“Well you are with me around.” Alicia laughed, handling her baseball bat, “I’ll protect you Clarke.”

Woah. Clarke’s inner feeling changed again at those last words. Was that … elation? Delight? The feeling had a physical effect as well. Clarke's heartbeat had just sped up a little. She swallowed, then laughing said, “Thanks Alicia. I appreciate it.”

“That proves it then.” Alicia announced.

“Proves what?” Clarke asked.

“That we were friends in a past life. We were destined to meet again, and we have.” Alicia replied knowledgeably.

“Well then,” Clarke said holding her hand out to Alicia, “It’s good to meet you again.”

Alicia took Clarke’s hand and, for a brief moment as both women looked at each other, a flash of recognition deep down inside, went between them. They stayed, each looking into the other’s eyes and held hands, for a little longer than a handshake. 

Then they both smiled.

The End


End file.
